


Find the Words to Say

by silvercolour



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Consensual Blood Drinking, Feelings, Fluff, Human Aziraphale, Kissing, M/M, No beta only fic, Vampire AU, Vampire Crowley, everyone has a good time, feeding your lover snacks is there a tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour
Summary: Crowley has Aziraphale at a loss for words, it’s all so much, but it’s also so overwhelminglygood.In which Crowley is a Vampire, and Aziraphale is a snacc
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 74
Collections: GO-events NTA #9 - Milkbottle After Dark





	Find the Words to Say

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Name-the-author game over on the GO-events discord, for the prompt “Milkbottle”– for which I chose not to write Major Milkbottle of the Witchfinder Army, but instead wrote Vampire AU omens! Nobody tell my other [Good Omens Vampire AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24911704/chapters/60283444), I’m still working on that one...

"Humans are really just milk bottles for vampires, aren't they?" Aziraphale giggles, the words leaving mouth before he has a chance to catch them. It's ridiculous, he knows it is. And more importantly, he knows it's something Crowley would never think of him. But it’s all so much, still is, even though they’ve done this many times before. He feels like he might be flying far above his own body, or floating in a hot bath; like he’s had just enough to drink to make everything more enjoyable, without the unpleasant dizziness or hangover that alcohol brings.

“Angel…” Crowley says softly, leaning back from Aziraphale’s neck. A few stray drops of blood trail their way down his chin. Aziraphale feels the wonderful heat and the distance from his body fade bit by bit, and he realizes what he just said. How Crowley might misunderstand him.

“Crowley, dear, I didn’t– I meant only that it’s convenient…” Aziraphale trails off, staring into Crowley’s eyes. He’s taken off his sunglasses, which he never does except for when he drinks Aziraphale’s blood. That is part of why Aziraphale enjoys these moments so, far beyond the fleeting happiness that comes from being bitten. This is the only time he gets to see Crowley, to properly see him. It is a vulnerability Crowley never allows beyond these times. Which makes them more valuable than diamonds, in Aziraphale’s humble opinion.

Crowley reaches for his glasses, and Aziraphale can see him withdrawing into himself. If he doesn’t catch Crowley now he may never get the chance to make this right. So Aziraphale shoots out his hand and catches Crowley’s, which was already carrying those blasted glasses back to his face. Crowley is far stronger than Aziraphale, is stronger than any human could ever hope to be. Crowley allows Aziraphale to stop his hand in midair anyway.

“I’m so sorry, my love, I wasn’t thinking straight from the…” he waves the hand not holding onto Crowley’s in a vague gesture to his neck.

Crowley leans forward, until their foreheads are touching, and says: “You know I care about you, right? More than anything?”

Aziraphale knows this, technically, but even so, knowing it and hearing Crowley say it are two very different things. A very different warmth fills his body. He nods, forgetting for a moment that their foreheads were touching, and bumps into Crowley’s head. Aziraphale flushes, and replies out loud instead: “I do.” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

“And you know that I would never think of you as– as any kind of  _ object _ ” Crowley hisses the word. “Or as something to be  _ used _ . As nothing more than a– a container for drinks. Please tell me you know that?” His voice waivers as he pleads.

“I know, my love, and I never meant to imply otherwise,” Aziraphale says, and reaches his free hand up to cup Crowley’s cheek. “I wasn’t thinking, and the sensation… uhm. Well. You know how– how enjoyable it feels for me…” Aziraphale feels his flush deepen. He must be bright red now, all the way down his shoulders. Which Crowley can see. Because he opened his shirt to allow Crowley to properly reach his neck to drink. And these thoughts are truly not helping, he decides.

“Anyway” Aziraphale resumes. “My point is. That is, I was distracted. And so my mouth said the first words my brain provided, instead of…”

“Instead of what, angel?” Crowley asks, a smile audible even though Aziraphale cannot see him grin.

“Instead of… things perhaps not meant for polite company.” Aziraphale has no idea why he said  _ that  _ either, that’s- well, it’s not wrong, but it is quite embarrassing, and–

Crowley leans back, his eyes bright and his grin now quite clearly visible: “I should hate to be ‘polite company’, my angel. What can I do to make you tell me?”

With nowhere to hide, Aziraphale feels Crowley’s eyes on him, hopeful and heavy and loving and wanting and– it’s so much. Rather than struggle for words, Aziraphale chooses to surge forward, and slots their lips together like they never belonged anywhere else. He tastes the tang of his own blood on Crowley’s lips, on his tongue as Crowley licks into his mouth, and perhaps it ought to bother him, but to Aziraphale it just tastes like Crowley.

He feels the tension drain from Crowley’s shoulders as Crowley abandons his glasses back to the table. He focuses all his attention on kissing Aziraphale until Aziraphale can no longer find any words at all, right ones or wrong, and the only word his mind can sing is  _ Crowley, Crowley, Crowley _ .

And then Crowley stops. He leans back just the tiniest fraction, retreating when Aziraphale tries to chase those lips, that tongue, instead keeping that same miniscule distance between them.

“Crowley!”

“Well, angel?” They are close enough that Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s hot breath on his red-kissed lips, and he is teasing, he must be, but the words don’t make sense.

Crowley sees the confusion on his face and takes pity on him: “What can I do to make you tell me what you were thinking, my light?”

“I-“ Aziraphale stammers. He isn’t at all sure what he wanted to say, and his mind still sings that beautiful, distracting chorus of  _ Crowley _ , making it very hard to think. So perhaps he shouldn’t think.

Instead of trying to chase Crowley’s kisses further, Aziraphale leans back, and attempts to look coy. He looks down, and then up at Crowley through his eyelashes. Crowley once told him it wasn’t ‘coy’ so much as ‘adorable’, but it’s always been effective.

“I- I think I might find the words easier if you continued drinking, dearest.”

“Ngk,” Aziraphale can see the crash of emotions happening on Crowley’s face: surprise- need- love; then Crowley reins it all in, and asks instead: “you’re okay with that? Not just trying to distract me?”

He always, always asks if Aziraphale is okay with Crowley drinking his blood, he’d already asked earlier the same evening, in fact. Yet every time Crowley asks it anew, and every time Aziraphale feels like he cannot possibly love Crowley more than he does at that moment.

“Yes, my love. I want you to– I want  _ you _ .”

Crowley nods, permission obtained. His eyes drift to Aziraphale’s neck, displayed by his open shirt, and adorned with two small, ruby-red punctures from earlier that evening. He lifts a hand to cup Aziraphale’s cheek, tugs his shirt further out of the way, and–

The floating, flying heat is back, the onset instant instead of gradual, like the previous bite. Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s shirt as if drowning, or falling, except the sensation is overwhelmingly  _ good _ . It is intense, and short, as Crowley lets go for a moment to murmur against Aziraphale’s neck: “I’ll keep going if you keep talking, angel mine.”

“Ah- Crowley!” Aziraphale means to sound angry, but the words come out a whine, far higher-pitched than normal.

“I– oh, you  _ fiend _ ,” Crowley has turned back to his throat and words fly away from Aziraphale, as he is filled with warmth. But that won’t last if he cannot catch some of those words, so he tries his best.

“I… What I wanted to say-“ It’s a struggle to focus on anything that isn’t Crowley, so that is what Aziraphale talks about. “You feel– so good, my love, and I  _ ah _ –,” words hitch over a gasp, as Crowley repositions himself into Aziraphale’s lap without ever letting go of his neck.

“You make it– you make it so difficult to focus on– on anything except you, even when we’re not doing this, and–“ Crowley apparently decides to suck a hickey around where he’s biting Aziraphale’s neck, perhaps as a reward to Aziraphale for continuing. Heat spikes from his neck through the rest of his body, making it igh impossible to continue, and he clutches at Crowley’s shoulders.

“Ah! I love you, Crowley, I adore you, I  _ need _ you, and I never ever want you to let go, my Crowley,” he’s babbling but it doesn’t even register. All he wants is Crowley, fro Crowley to continue, and to not let go.

At some point he must have stopped talking, but he cannot quite tell when that was, because Crowley didn’t stop drinking until he’d had his fill. The overwhelming waves of feelings, and sensations that are  _ so good and too much _ , and his love, his Crowley there with him short-circuited his brain, truly stealing all words from him.

When he finally starts to form complete thoughts, floating down from some very high point, he feels himself softly laid back on the couch, Crowley’s thighs cushioning his head, his hands at Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale opens his mouth to speak, but the words that form thoughts haven’t quite remembered how to travel beyond his head yet.

Crowley smiles down at him fondly, busy bandaging Aziraphale’s neck. Once that is done he reaches over to the side table, and produces a plate of bonbons. He picks one, and Aziraphale can tell it’s his favourite, chocolate and cherry cream. He opens his mouth, and lets Crowley slowly feed him several bonbons, savouring each one, licking Crowley’s fingers in the process.

It takes him a while, but the words find their way out eventually: “Crowley, that was… That was wonderful, thank you”

“That wasn’t so hard to talk about, was it?” Crowley says, a slow, sated smile on his lips and a devilish glint in his eyes. Aziraphale lifts a hand to swat at Crowley’s arm, mock-angry.

“ ‘Sides, I should be thanking you, my beautiful angel.” He leans down, and kisses a stray bit of chocolate from Aziraphale’s lip. “So thank you. For letting me do that, and for–“ Now Crowley seems at a loss for words, and for a moment all he can do is stare into Aziraphale’s eyes. Aziraphale lets him. He knows how elusive words can be, after all.

“Thank you for– for saying all that,” a pause, a heartbeat long. “I love you too, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think, I love hearing from you!


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